


We Get By Just Fine

by surprisepink



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:40:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23250355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surprisepink/pseuds/surprisepink
Summary: The same scene, over time: a love that does not wane, a much-needed rest, a litter of kittens, and meaning of life. Maybe.
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring
Comments: 6
Kudos: 65





	We Get By Just Fine

It's become somewhat of a routine at this point: after lunch, as the rest of the students file out for classes and riding lessons and other equally mundane things, Linhardt lingers. The dining hall staff don't seem particularly fond of it as they carefully and pointedly navigate around him, cleaning up each table setting and sweeping the floor under his bench as though they could perhaps toss him out with the dust. Still, they typically say nothing, either not wishing to get into a row with a young noble, or simply not caring enough to bother with dismissing him. He doesn't care about the details, really; he lingers either way.

Today he is joined by two thick tomes, neither of which have anything to do with the lesson he's expected to be at in three minutes, as well a hastily torn piece of parchment covered in a series of scribbles that Edelgard once assumed was a secret code until he explained that no, that was just his handwriting when he got too into a topic to bother with penmanship.

Everyone _had_ left, he had observed not ten minutes ago, and yet Caspar is shouting at him, inexplicably (albeit not unexpectedly). He must have found the time to leave and return, which, Linhardt reasons, is not particularly unreasonable when one has as much energy to spare as Caspar does.

"Linhardt, come quick!" he says with a pound of fists on the table, as if to emphasize his point. It's unnecessary; Linhardt was already paying attention despite himself. He lacks Caspar's sense of urgency in this and in all things, but after ten years of knowing him he's well aware that most of what he has to say is worth listening to, if for no other reason than because Caspar genuinely appreciates it.

"What is it?" Linhardt asks, not looking up from his notes.

"I have to show you something, doofus, you gotta move it!"

Well, Caspar is nothing if not enthusiastic.

As is his nature, Linhardt takes his time getting up from the bench, pretending not to notice Caspar tapping his foot as he yaws, stretches, fiddles with something in his satchel. "You realize that most people would explain what was going on before trying to drag someone along," he points out, not truly bothered by the impatience but unable to resist the temptation of gently teasing Caspar for his shortcomings.

"Why bother when you're already coming?"

He is indeed already coming. Something about Caspar made him hard to decline, despite Linhardt's copious experience doing just that with the average classmate. When it came to most of his peers, Lindhardt practically had to be dragged, kicking and screaming, to do anything he wasn't in the mood for, but he had long ago realized that there was something special about Caspar.

The very moment his things are in order, Linhardt promptly finds himself being dragged in the general direction of the courtyard, off of the main path, and then to one particular bush.

"Here!" Caspar says, pushing aside some of the branches, sounding oddly satisfied with himself. At once, Linhart can understand why: underneath is a cat who, Linhart recalls, Caspar had recently pointed out was begging for table scraps more intently than usual this month. With her are five neonates, huddled together for warmth even on a balmy spring day and suckling on their mother. The mama cat makes eye contact with Linhardt and blinks lazily, as if she's not sure why he bothered to come here.

It's a good thing the babies are already out and clean, since Linhardt had never much seen the appeal of the mess that was watching a childbirth. "I watched it happen! Just a little while ago!" Caspar informs him, as if he already knows what his friend is thinking. Really, it was surprisingly courteous of him to refrain from dragging Linhardt here too soon. "There's Peanut, Jelly Roll, Paprikash, Sundae, and Potato!" he says, pointing to each kitten in turn.

Linhardt politely refrains from pointing out that currently, all five of them appear to be potatoes. "They're fairly cute, I must admit," he says instead.

"But don't touch them, or Mama will stop caring for them!" Caspar adds, just as proudly as before.

"Ah, that's a myth."

"Huh?"

"People say that, but it's a myth meant to stop inquisitive children from handling delicate stray animals that would prefer to be left alone. And it seems that it's working."

It takes Caspar a second to understand the implication, but he sounds rather taken aback when he does. "Hey, wait a minute!".

Linhardt chuckles. "In any case, how did you find them?"

"I noticed Cornucopia looked kind of sick," he says, presumably referring to the mother cat, "And she was hiding and it worried me, you know? So I left lunch early to check on her, and saw this!"

"If you've been keeping an eye on her this whole time, I think she needs a break, don't you?"

Cornucopia mews in what Linhardt chooses to interpret as agreement.

"She does not!"

"She does."

Stubborn as ever, Caspar dashes over to a tree not yards away, and firmly plops himself down to sit at its feet. "Ok, we can still look out for them over here!"

Never one to deny himself a chance for a potential nap, Linhardt follows; the cats are no longer visible from here, but he supposes that Caspar is imagining some sort of implausible situation where the courtyard is assaulted by bandits or one of their classmates decides to use them for sword practice targets. He's free to, Linhardt supposes. "I'll leave the watching bit to you."

Caspar nods, satisfied, and Linhardt has no trouble making himself comfortable, lying with his head in Caspar's lap. It's a familiar occurrence, Caspar chatting away as Linhardt allows himself to be lured to sleep, and by now Caspar has learned not to be offended by it. At the appropriate level, his voice is soothing, Linhardt explained once, and Caspar hadn't really understood but had accepted it nonetheless. Now he's describing the finer points of how he first met Cornucopia, the snacks he secretly fed her in the dining hall, and how her meow sounds different based on her mood. (Based on his prior observations regarding cats, of which he has many, Linhardt doubts that, but it's not worth pointing out.)

"Lin? You awake?" he asks, his voice suddenly more serious than Linhardt might have expected. Gently, he taps Linhardt’s shoulder, as if to not wake him should he be truly asleep. But Linhardt had reached that in-between place, between wakefulness and sleep, still halfway paying attention to what Caspar had to say about how Ashe had suggested "Paprikash", and so he easily becomes fully conscious again, making a noncommittal noise as his eyelashes flutter, which evidently is enough for Caspar.

"Lin, do you ever wonder why we're alive?"

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

"Do you ever wonder why we're alive?"

"Certainly, I'm sure everyone does. But... what brought this on?"

"It's just, this whole birth thing makes me think about _my_ kids, and then about me as a kid, and then me being born, and... I dunno. Sorry if that's lame."

"It's not lame," Linhart reassures him. He's proud of Caspar for thinking about it, really.

"But I wonder about it other times, too, y'know? My brain may not be as big as yours but there's _something_ up there!"

"I wonder sometimes," Linhardt says smiling fondly, teasing in a fashion that he's sure Caspar won't take the wrong way. "But the way you fight, you won't be around long enough to leave descendants in the first place."

"Hey! I'm doing good so far, I haven't died yet."

"If you think about it that much, have you figured out the answer yet?"

"Still working on that part, but I'll let you know when I do!"

"Hmm. You're a good person, Caspar. That's what I love about you. Anyway, goodnight."

"Linhardt! Wait! What's that supposed to mean?" Caspar says, almost frantic.

"I'm asleep now," Linhardt replies.

"No you're not!"

Linhart says nothing. All of this soul-searching is exhausting.

For once at a loss for words, Caspar sits quietly, making small "psps" sounds at Cornucopia when she wanders over, her kin satisfactorily fed for now. She joins them on the small bit of Caspar's lap that's not occupied by Linhardt's head, only his copious hair spilling over Caspar, and a strange contentment that he can't name washes over him.

* * *

Cornucopia is gone now, not stolen by the war like so many others, but by the passage of time; her descendants and their descendants (and so on) are still biding theirs at Garreg Mach. On this particular afternoon, Linhardt has positioned himself beneath that same tree, or he thinks it might be the same tree. It’s not a class he’s skipping now but a strategy meeting, which sounds much graver but is equally dull and just as easy to get a recap of later on.

It's been five years since the day he told Caspar that he loved him, and he’s not said it since, at least not in so many words. It hadn't been planned that time, but it had felt right, and though Caspar had never brought it up again, he'd gladly repeat it when once again the time felt right. They have their whole lives, after all, and neither of them plan on dying anytime soon.

In one hand is a small volume of poetry, a welcome indulgence in between thicker texts, and in the other is a stray reed he had picked up somewhere along the way here, dangling it in front of an enthralled Potato. The cat, sweet as she is, would certainly place herself directly between Linhardt and his book if he wasn't distracting her.

The moment is so peaceful that he scarcely notices familiar footsteps rapidly getting closer until Potato makes herself scarce, at which point he finally looks up.

"You're scaring the cats, Caspar."

"Sorry! I'm sorry, Potato!" he calls in what Linhardt is pretty sure is the wrong direction, but perhaps Potato is capable of understanding and appreciating his good intentions, as Caspar often insists that she is.

It seems to Linhardt that he himself has barely changed: his hair has gotten a bit longer and he's abandoned his uniform for a surprisingly comfortable set of robes now that he's no longer a student, but beyond that everything seems about the same. For his part, however, Caspar is taller, broader. His voice has deepened and he's mastered the axe with a finesse that impresses even Edelgard. And his willpower has only strengthened over the years, a once eager but green young student of combat has become a formidable warrior.

Sometimes Linhardt wonders if he's the same way, if he's grown just as much and simply lacks the distance to properly notice, but he declines to dwell on those thoughts.

He's about to invite Caspar to sit with him, but Caspar beats him to it, stretching wide before allowing one arm to casually drape around Linhardt's shoulder. Probably thinks he's being subtle about it, Linhardt notes with the smallest of grins.

"So how are you?"

"Hm. Same as always."

"Really? A lot has been going on lately."

"When _isn't_ there a lot going on these days? I wish I'd been born in a duller time."

"No way!" Caspar says, laughing. "You have so much to research now, though!"

"And no time to do it, usually. I would much prefer having more chances to relax like this."

Someone less familiar with the way Linhardt's mind worked would have likely excused themselves politely at that point, but Caspar holds steady, giving Linhardt's shoulder a friendly squeeze. "Seriously though, are you okay? With..." with his other hand he gestured lamely, "All of this?"

Nothing _especially_ traumatic has happened today, this week, this month. But war stretches behind them and before them, with no clear end and barely a clear beginning. It takes a toll on a person’s soul that neither of them is able to put into words.

There are a lot of things, Linhardt realizes, that they both know that they feel and decline to say out loud.

"Yes, Caspar, I'll be fine. Thank you for asking, truly."

There's silence then. Caspar's been silent more and more lately, a new level of introspection as they've aged. Sometimes, it's welcome; other times, it is deafening. Neither of them is sure if it's a natural part of the passage of time or if recent chaos has led to him maturing too much, too fast.

"I'm still thinking about it, you know? Why we're here, why we've made it this far.”

He does know: what Caspar is talking about, and why, and why _here_ and _now_. But says nothing, and allows Caspar to continue.

“I work my ass off getting stronger every day, but those guys on the other side... they probably work just as hard. Heck, some of them used to be our classmates! I know Raphael isn't a slacker, and there's lots of people like him, just normal people doing their best to survive and fight for their families."

"And if they don't deserve to die, _we_ might be the ones who are deserving... is that what you mean?"

"It's not about deserving, it's just... I dunno. I don't regret being here, but it's just not fair. We're just lucky so far."

"We did talk have this conversation before, didn’t we?" Linhardt says, and Caspar nods, glad Linhardt remembers. "And it's strange that you've been thinking about it all this time. But..."

"But?"

"When I watch you on the battlefield, sometimes I almost don't recognize you. You're so steadfast, so... focused." Caspar opens his mouth to object but Linhardt holds up a finger, already anticipating what he's going to say. "You've never been a slacker, but when we're at war it feels different. Watching you kill so effortlessly feels odd."

Caspar pauses, choosing his words with care. "Did you think I was having fun?"

It’s not about “fun” or “not fun”, Linhardt declines to explain. It’s about those of them who are able to sleep at night, and those who aren’t. Caspar, with his chivalrous soul, falls into the latter group, or so he believes.

"I think… that neither of us belongs here, when it all comes down to it."

“I feel like that, and then I don’t, and then I do? When someone is in danger, I want to be the one to save them! But then it means that someone else gets hurt, and we aren’t able to talk to them, any maybe it didn’t have to be that way. I don't know! It's hard! It's like... I feel like I'm turning into someone different."

"Really? Because I was just thinking that you're sounding more like the Caspar I know. If you're talking like that, you haven't changed as much as you think."

"I guess I gotta believe that, coming from you. You probably know me better than I know myself at this point."

"And you, me. You're a good person, Caspar."

"That's why you love me, right?"

Despite being left to age five years, the words sound so natural on Caspar’s lips, full and sweet like a fine wine that’s been carefully tucked away in a cellar, a wine that Linhardt has sipped a thousand times and still savors every taste of.

"Oh, did I say that?" he answers, fully composed even as a warmth fills his belly. Love, he learned long ago, is not a single momentous declaration of affection but a million tiny things.

"Come on! As if I'd forget that part!"

Linhardt only had to lean over slightly to place a gentle kiss on Caspar's cheek, and this close it's easy to feel his heart speed up slightly. "Hmm, maybe I did."

"Stop teasing me, I've been thinking about it every day for the past five years."

"Oh, so you're a fool as well."

"You say that one all the time! Listen, Lin, I like you, and I really thought you liked me."

Linhardt can't help but smile fondly at Caspar words. After all this time, he was still relentlessly straightforward, something that was fully welcome in these times of confusion. "I do love you, you know."

Caspar nods, content; carefully, he offers Linhardt a gentle kiss in return, and for a moment the war disappears.

* * *

"Did you ever figure it out?" Linhardt asks, far away from Garreg Mach. The war has been over for half of a decade, and they've remained inseparable -- and, as Dorothea had put it the last time they'd seen each other, insufferable. ("Are you two courting or not?" she had asked, in a I-have-a-bet-riding-on-this sort of voice; Caspar and Linhardt had looked at each other, looked back at her, and shrugged.)

They're accompanied by horses now, since those are a bit more practical on a long journey than smaller animals, but they still make a point to greet the local cats, especially when they're in Ashe and Dedue's neck of the woods. Caspar ruffles Potato Jr.'s hair, just as fond as him as he had been of the last.

"What?" Caspar replies blankly.

"Why we're alive."

"Oh! That. Uh..."

Linhardt shakes his head. "You don't need to know the answer. Maybe it's more interesting if there isn't one."

He's more than happy to spend the rest of his life looking for that answer, and surely Caspar is, too. There's no doubt that so long as they're together it won't be boring.

**Author's Note:**

> Come social distance with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/seraphknights)!


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